


Supernatural One-Shots

by kid_planet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Sad, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kid_planet/pseuds/kid_planet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>these are going to be a compilation of anything i've written already, or am in the process of writing. Also, feel free to request a one shot to be written! :) know that i am a single writer, so not all requests may be written and posted. (who am i kidding, this is going to be read by like 3 people probably) (sorry that these are going to be super short, but some might have a couple parts if you request them) I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 12:51 AM

You were the one who was supposed to protect me. Not the other way around. You were supposed to heal my scars. Heal my heart. Instead, when I found you there, bleeding out, the roles had changed. I wanted to know why. You tried to answer but the scarlet rose in your throat and choked out your words. My sobs of pain did the same.

After you were gone I just stared. Stared at the ground. The wall. You. At the crimson now staining my hands. It was only me and you now. In that moment. I wasn't sure how long I sat there. I'm sure the phone rang and there were knocks on the door and shouting outside but it all faded into the background. I hadn't had the strength to close your eyes for you, so I just stared into those lifeless orbs which once held so much brightness. Their hazel color held no light anymore, and I felt like they were mocking me. My chest felt clogged. Stuffy. All the things I never got to say perhaps. Maybe it was guilt.

You know, they always describe what it feels like to lose someone in movies and books, but I never realized how inadequate the descriptions were until now. I felt empty at the same time I felt full of feeling. The droll sound of the telephone ringing echoed in my skull, helping the headache that had manifested to become worse. I rose to my feet and dragged my them along to the bathroom. I tried washing off my hands, but the red wasn't going away. I sobbed. I scrubbed. I hadn't realized how hard I was scrubbing until a pair of hands grabbed my wrist and made me stop. I didn't even care who it was. Everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus like I was hearing things from underwater. The hands pulled me away from the sink and away from you. They pulled me to the bed. I'm not sure if I was crying then or just remaining in a pitiful silence. The hands turned into arms and a torso and they wrapped around me. The torso had a face and it was him. Your brother. Your once stoic stronghold had tears running down his face. Tears I hadn't seen in a long time, and tears I'd hoped I'd never see again. Yet, there they were. So we sat there. Me and him. Me and the man who’d once had no feeling. Who once was a statue lacking emotion. We sat there embracing. United by one great loss. A loss that never should have been felt.

We should have been happy. You and me. Together. Living that apple pie life. That apple pie _lie_. Oh god why couldn't we have had a chance. We've only done good in this world. We saved people. We got rid of the evil and the chaos, or at least made a dent. Why? Why couldn't someone have had mercy? If there was a god, why did he do this? Why didn't he save him.

Hours must have passed. I finally looked up and your brother was gone. Keys gone. Bags packed and gone. But you, you remained. He hadn't taken you. Why? I rejoiced for still having you but cried out to the ceiling that he would have taken you so I wouldn't have to see those lifeless eyes and bloody lips. The motel's silence is deafening, and I wonder why no maintenance or manager or cleaning service has come by yet. I assumed that the loudness of the silence could be heard by all. I was wrong. I just looked at you. You always had such a terrible habit of being insanely beautiful. Now that you were dead, you looked oddly serene and placid, and somehow more beautiful. The grief must have been getting to me. The grief got to your brother. He just left. He never did have a healthy way with dealing with sadness. You were his everything, and now that you were gone, he could just leave. Just run away, like he was always good at. But now he had no regrets to leave behind. Just a body and the ghost of my former self. A shell, an automaton, moving and breathing without purpose. It was because you, you, were my purpose. And now, now you were no more.

****  
  



	2. Black Combat Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's off about you, but Sam just can't quite place his finger on it. hijinx insue.

The dull drone of the radio hummed in the background of your thoughts. Your shades slipped down the bridge of your nose and onto your upper lip. Readjusting them to their correct position, you caught Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror of the Impala, his gaze forlorn and his eyebrows knitted together. You held his stare for a moment before looking away, turning your head completely to gaze out of the window. The ride had been long and you were tired, only wanting to flop down on your bed at the bunker and crash. Dean shifted in his seat next to you, catching your attention. You felt Sam’s icy glare burning into the side of your face as you glanced at his brother. You loved the feeling of jealousy eating Sam from the inside out. It gave you a satisfaction that nothing else could, and filled a hole where your soul should have been. The boys still didn’t know about it, but you were sure Sam had an inkling. He noticed the way you’d changed overnight, but he hadn’t quite placed his finger on it. It drew him to you like nothing else. It made you grin like an idiot. You would have thought being soulless would have made you indifferent to all feeling like Sam had seemed to you. However, the lack of it made you feel more alive. It made you invincible and whatever you had felt before this didn’t even compare to what you felt now.

You curled a strand of hair around your finger seductively, letting it catch in your long, black, painted nail. The point of it was sharp enough to stab someone with, and it was just the way you liked it. Dean grinned out of the side of his mouth and it turned into a smirk. He didn’t realize it, but he loved the new you. That’s how you liked to think of it. The new you. The fresh you. The better you.

Relief flooded through you as Dean began to pull the Impala over to a diner. No sooner had the car stopped than you swung open the door and nearly sprinted to the bathroom. Dean chuckled, oblivious to the conflict that his brother and you had been having with only your looks. Exiting the bathroom you saw them at a table across the room, looking at the menus with hungry eyes. You strode over to the table, dragging out the chair intended for you with a deafening screech, making Sam jump. “You alright there, Sam? You seem kinda jumpy lately,” you asked innocently, a gleam in your eye. “No I’m fine,” replied Sam, still looking down at the menu. Then, a sound ruptured the air with extreme intensity, and you felt yourself being slammed in the chest and flying backwards. Black enveloped your vision and you slipped away into darkness.

Your eyes drifted open to find that you were no longer in the diner, no longer with the boys, and no longer on earth. Sighing exasperatedly, you pulled yourself to your feet, having been laying quite dumbly on the cold ground. You dusted off your hands on the rough denim of your worn jeans, squinting into the darkness of the hallway you had found yourself in. You knew it was hell. You had always known you would be able to tell when you arrived. Strangely, you had the feeling you weren’t dead, merely in another plane of existence at the moment. You chuckled at that thought, suddenly interrupted by a suave and cocky sounding voice. “Hello love. What brings you to my humble abode?” The demon brit was nowhere to be seen, and you turned in every direction, not wanting to be caught off guard. Grinning to no one in particular, you answered, “I don’t know, Growls. Why don’t you tell me?” When he spoke you could hear the smile in his voice from the nickname you’d dubbed him weeks earlier. “So, have you told those two goons your secret yet?” You shook your head, knowing that he could probably see you. “They have no reason to know. Besides, they’ll probably try and fix me anyways.” He appeared next to you without so much as a whoosh and looked at you mockingly. “What would be so bad about that? Is it because you know that they’d probably get hurt in doing so? Or is it because they’ll hate you afterwards or what?” Your eyebrows cocked in amusement when you retorted, “Hell no!” Crowley mimicked your facial expression. “I could care less about them! I actually like how I am now, thank you very much.” He nodded with understanding, pacing back and forth across the small space. You swung your arms with glee and turned in a circle like you were dancing, smiling all the while. “Being soulless is so liberating. I feel like I could kill a freaking Walmart full of people and no one could stop me.” His pacing continued and you dropped your arms. “Well, if you’re quite done I’d like to go back to my playthings now,” you chirped. Crowley smiled and waved his hand slightly, and you heard the same excruciating whine that you had heard before.  

You popped up in the middle of the bunker to see a worried looking Dean and Sam biting his finger nails in anticipation.

“Hello boys, did you miss me?”

 


	3. To Hell and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reader insert :) you are tortured by dean when he was in hell, and chaos ensues afterwards (yes hello i am awful at summaries but i promise you wont hate this).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: torture, verbal abuse, gore, cussing

The knife gleamed in his hand, the deeply serrated edge driving fear into your heart. Apparently it showed, because he lowered it to his side before cupping your terrified face gently. A little _too_ gently. “My dear,” he purred, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” His kind voice was a wolf in sheep’s skin, as you knew his true intentions. His face got ever closer, and his lips moved for your ear. His hot breath against your neck made you recoil in horror. He whispered softly, “I just want to see what your insides look like.”

You had obviously held in your sounds of fear for too long, because your body betrayed you. You opened your mouth slightly and uttered the most pathetic gasping whimper you had ever heard. He looked facetiously taken aback. “Now what was that, Y/N? It almost sounds like you’re enjoying this,” he taunted. Your fear quickly turned into pride, flipping your demeanor to one of a more challenging tone. You spat suddenly. “I am not enjoying this, you fucking monster.” He smiled then, quite satisfied with your response. “There,” he said. “I was waiting for the real you to come out and play. You’ve been hiding under your skin this whole time.” Your brows furrowed in disgust and your lip curled up with hatred. “God dammit, Dean. What in Lucifer’s name turned you into this?” Dean’s eyes shadowed with doubt for a moment before he flickered back to his cruel attitude. You continued, “We died at the same time. We both came to hell at the _same time_. Don’t you think it’s just the little bit pathetic, of _you_ , to be the one to be corrupted first, and not me?”

Dean slammed his fist into your stomach then, subsequently making you cough up blood. The flood dribbled down your chin and onto your already soaked shirt. “Do not _ever_ , think about yourself so highly again,” he growled. When you made no attempt to meet his eye, he took a blade to your stomach instead of a fist. Your eyes shot open suddenly, your body convulsing in response to the cold bite of Dean’s knife. He immediately grabbed your face, with such force you felt he could rip your face off if he wanted to, which he probably did. “Little girl. You do realize that _you_ are under _my_ control? You are _my_ pet. You are _my_ plaything, and I will _never_ let you rest. Not for all eternity.” He stepped back, opening his arms to you as if gesturing to grandeur. “You are mine forever.”

To your ironic relief, the door creaked open, at least pausing his torture for a few moments. “What in the Here do you want?”, barked Dean, without even turning around. The rumbling British accent that answered him was the best sound you had heard in a long time. “Well Dean-o, it’s time for you to go,” hummed Crowley, sighing. Dean’s face contorted strangely. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The brit put his hands up in mock defense. “Hey, don’t blame me, it came from higher up.” Dean now spun around angrily to face him. “Higher up? Higher up!”, screamed Dean, “Who the hell in here is higher up than you?” Crowley simply pointed upwards, towards the ceiling. “Dude,” huffed Dean exasperatedly, “Could you be any more vague?” Crowley smirked. “Do you even _know_ me?”

Dean ignored his sarcastic comment. “Just tell me who’s higher up. And, what ‘it’s time for me to go’ means.” The demon king sauntered lightly over to his friend, no, co worker, smiling dryly. His shoulders dipped and his eyebrows pinched together strangely, as if he almost couldn’t believe what he was about to say.”It’s from… God.”

You saw Dean’s surprise affect his body language. “Excuse me?” Crowley shrugged and gestured to you. “You’re going to have to let her go. To somebody else, I mean.” Dean visibly disagreed, shaking his head violently from side to side. “No. There’s no way that I am leaving her hear to be dealt with by some _goon_.” He spat the last word, and Crowley did not look pleased. “I will be the one to continue your work,” he said, looking deadpan. Dean chuckled. “Oh. Well, no offense to you goons,” he said again, obviously just pushing Crowley’s sensitive buttons.

_ God, that sounded wrong.  _

“But aren’t you a little high up to be torturing some lowly, unimportant, pathetic soul?” Dean hissed each word individually, hurting you less than he probably intended. 

_Dean with a knife may end my life, but his words will never hurt me._

Crowley raised his brows. “She is not _unimportant_ or _lowly_ ,” he said. You wanted to feel complimented, but something sinister lingered in his words. He continued, “She is basically a sister to you Winchesters. There is no way I would miss out on a chance to play with such a significant character like her.” With those words spoken, he turned his gaze to you, now a quivering idiot. There was a time when seeing Crowley or working with him brought you joy and amusement, because you honestly believed you had a soft spot for each other. But, you were tragically misled. This disgusting demon was no friend of yours. You were an imbecile for ever trusting him or seeing him as someone you could trust. Now, instead of bringing you joy, he was going to bring pain. Terrible. Unspeakable. Miserable pain. 

As the door was slowly closing, Dean’s eyes glistened in the dark behind it, as if it was his last goodbye. You hoped it was. Crowley stood near you, wiggling his fingers in farewell to the disappearing Dean. 

_ Good Lord, he sounds like some sort of circus freak with that title.  _

When the door finally clicked, Crowley spun towards you, concern on his face. “Are you alright?”, he questioned, scanning over your body for injuries beyond repair. You were confused, but responded anyway. “I- I’m fine.” He nodded but quickly caught a glimpse of your stomach. “No. You are not. He stabbed you, you’re bleeding out.” Your head tilted this time, even more perplexed than before. “Crowley. I’ll heal by tomorrow, you know that. That’s the curse of this place, you know.” He nodded but you kept going. “Lucifer designed it this way.” 

He didn’t say anything but instead hastily started undoing the chains that held you to your chair. “What are you doing?”, you asked, but your vision began to go fuzzy and blurred. “Wha- what’s happeni-” Your mouth didn’t obey your brain’s commands to form words, but before you could decide what was actually happening, you faded out completely. 

The crackling of a fire awoke you from your not-so-peaceful slumber, and your eyes peeked open thinly. Screams immediately erupted from your dry mouth, and you pushed the weight off of you that you felt. It was wrapping around you, suffocating you, and all you could see or hear was the hellfire that awaited your suffering. The flames rose up and licked at every part of you, basically roasting you to a crisp. Chains and hooks sunk through your skin and into your muscles, suspending your helpless body above the blazing inferno. No one was here to pity you or rescue you, but you screamed anyway. It was the only way for you to truly express the eternal agony you felt. 

But then, strong arms gripped yours, shocking you from your state. You flung open your eyes to see him. It was Crowley, but he was not skewering you with spears or peeling away your skin. No. He was gripping you tightly, yelling in your face, eyes full of worry. You took a moment to look around, noticing that it wasn’t hellfire you had seen, but the warm, friendly crackling of a fire in a fireplace. You also noticed that the place you were in looked nothing like the hell you knew. Tapestries adorned the walls and exotic art was displayed in glass cases. If you weren’t in hell, where were you? Crowley was still yelling at you, trying to get you back to full consciousness. You had just now become aware that he wasn’t actually yelling, but was speaking softly and normally, trying to calm you. Your awareness soon became fully active.

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you okay? You were screaming in your sleep. I thought you were dying.” You looked at his concerned face and still found yourself utterly stumped. Why in Lucifer’s name was he being kind and concerned? He should be torturing you, not comforting you when you were afraid. Instead of pondering this more, you spoke. “I- I wasn’t asleep. I- I- I-” Clearly struggling with your words, Crowley pulled you closer and gently stroked your hair. It was a genuine gentle, unlike Dean’s, and you found yourself settling into his touch. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. You can tell me.” At his words and actions just displayed, you now understood that Crowley’s feelings were true, and he wasn’t deceiving you. Or was he? This was just Crowley’s style, now that you thought about it. You pulled back suddenly, fully recovered from your stupor.

“Get away from me, you asshole. I know your tricks, and I have to say, I thought you were smarter than to try and trick me this way,” you hissed, retreating to the far end of the velvet couch you were both sitting on. His face looked sad, and put his hands back in his lap from where they had been hanging in the air, reaching out for you. He looked towards the fire and said nothing for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” he started, “That my past actions have caused you to feel this way about me now.” You snorted at his half-ass apology. “Sorry? Stop the act, Crowley. You are a parasite: incapable of being sorry about jack-shit.” He nodded silently at the fire and rose to his feet. For you, your reaction was calm, as you flipped over the back of the couch and grabbed the nearest weapon... which just so happened to be a fucking lamp. 

_ Great! What am I gonna do? Give him a well-lit death? _

While you glanced despicably at your meager weapon, the King appeared in front of you, snatching it out of your hands. 

_Oh fuck._

But, he didn’t reach through your throat and snap your spine as you’d thought. Instead, he threw the freaking lamp (Really, you still couldn’t get over that.) behind him, and cupped your face in his hands. Before you could cuss him out once more, he had pressed his lips up against yours. Unexpectedly, you did not claw his eyes out at that very moment like you had planned. But, your limp arms rose from your sides to caress him back. Now, you didn’t care if he was tricking you or not. You only cared about his surprisingly soft lips and scruffy beard that you so loved. The kiss wasn’t rough. It wasn’t demanding, or even lustful. It was genuine and full of… love. 

Then he pulled back. He still held your face and looked intently into your eyes. “Y/N. I want you to know that I never wanted to see you suffer. I love you, and have always loved you, from the day I met you. I’m so sorry that I didn’t stop Dean earlier and free you from your suffering.” He continued with his confession and apology, but you’d had enough. You leaned forward and silenced him with another kiss. He opened his eyes and looked into yours again. “What was that for?” You pursed your lips. “I did that because I feel the same about you.” Crowley’s face brightened, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. Though he looked expectant, as if waiting for something. “Crowley? What’s wrong?”, you asked innocently. He chuckled. “Oh nothing. Now’s just the time where you kick me in the jewels and say ‘And that’s for keeping me in hell!’ or some nonsense like that.”

You smiled sweetly and cocked your head to the side. “What are you talking about? I would never hurt you,” you purred. Now was about the time he caught wind of what you were doing. His eyes narrowed and his thick eyebrows drooped. His mouth opened to say something, but before he could, you shoved the broken lamp stand into his chest. Gasping for air, Crowley pushed off of you and tried to regain control. While the idiot had been professing his love for you, you had picked up another lamp, one that had been shattered in your struggle to get over the couch. Betrayal flashed over his face and his eyes filled with tears. “Why? Why, Y/N?” A mischievous cackle rose from your chest and out of your mouth. “Did you really think that for one _second_ , that I would ever love you?” Your boots thudded on the marble flooring as you slowly advanced toward the once so mighty King of Hell. He tried to get away from you, hauling himself across the ground, leaving a blood trail in his wake. 

He had since ripped out the lamp stand, and was now snaking himself toward a chest of drawers, supposedly filled with weapons or something to stop you. Instead of letting him get any further, you firmly placed your boot on his back, right over the hole where the lamp stand had stabbed through his chest cavity. His howl of agony brought a smile to your lips. “Crowley, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying this.” The same words that Dean had once used against you now found themselves pouring out of your mouth. Crowley’s head turned slightly, and he looked at your towering form looming over his weakened vessel. “Y/N. I love you. Please don’t do this.” The smile you donned faded away slightly, before quickly being replaced by curled lips and bared canines. You shook your head. “You moron. I do _not_ love you, and you will die by my hands, knowing that I despise your fucking guts.” 

Everything you said had its truth in some ways, but in reality, you _had_ loved him. When you were on Earth and were living your life, the sight of him caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter all around. Now, the butterflies had migrated, just like the Monarchs, your favorite. The pressure of your boot intensified, and he howled again. You knew that Crowley was now a junkie, injecting himself with human blood. It had made him weak, and any respect you once had for him had been burned to ash in the fires of hell. He was practically human, and his current state made you stronger and more powerful than he ever was.

Suddenly, a vision invaded your mind. You were standing over a corpse, your hands bloody and the intestines of your victim strewn about the room. The door creaked open once again, and the familiar British twang filled your ears. “I think you’re done with this one, love. He looks positively torn up.” You smirked, but then realized there were no weapons in the room. Before Crowley had arrived, your own hands had reached inside your prey and ripped him apart, throwing his organs over your shoulder and draining him of his lifeblood. And, to your pleasure, you weren’t the least bit horrified or shameful of your actions. It had felt amazing, you knew that much. Also, you knew he wasn’t the first work of art you had created, and you definitely knew he wasn’t the last. 

The vision faded away then, and the realization hit you like a freight train. That wasn’t a _vision_. It was a _flashback_. You had actually done that. You looked down at Crowley, still pitifully laying beaten on the ground. “Crowley, when did Dean leave? How long ago was it?”, you demanded calmly. Now he really did look defeated. “He-”, Crowley began, but it was cut off by a coughing fit that resulted in more blood pooling on the floor. “Continue,” you implored. He nodded. “He has been gone for a long time.” You had had just about enough. “How long?”, you growled, the guttural noise making Crowley visibly shiver. “I don’t know! I swear! Time isn’t exactly clear for _me_ down here either,” he screamed. “Why don’t I remember any of what I just saw? I just saw me doing things in my mind that I don’t even remember.” Crowley seemed to accept his fate, so he gently laid his head down on the ground, resting before his death. 

“TELL ME!”, you roared, the walls shaking. “I- I did that. I made you forget,” he admitted. Just as you had suspected. “And, why, did you make me forget?”, you questioned. Obviously, you knew the answer. You just wanted to hear him say what you already knew, so that you could personally rip his rib cage from his torso, admiring the cold heart that sat like a trapped bird inside. “I made you forget so that maybe you would fall in love with me.” His confession hung pathetically in the air. Laughter pierced the atmosphere. Needless to say it was you who was openly and loudly cackling. “You worthless King. Your subjects despise you, Hell’s quality is suffering, and your weak ass isn’t doing shit to solve any problems.” The Brit closed his eyes, determined to just lay there until you undeniably slaughtered him. “I have been here for ages, I can tell. And, I know that you know just _exactly_ how long that is.” The King of Hell finally gave up, spitting out blood before hissing, “Eight hundred and forty years.”

The only sound in the room after that was the wheezing breathing of your victim. Your jaw clenched and unclenched, contemplating everything you had ever thought. Eight hundred and forty years was a long time. A long enough time for you to become a demon. Centuries spent in hell was enough to turn anyone into a black-eyed son of a bitch. “Am I a demon?”, you finally asked, dreading the answer. Crowley slowly shook his head, barely able to speak anymore. “You were strong, and you resisted. But, it was mostly due to the fact that you don’t really remember the majority of your stay here. Right now, you only have about forty years of your memories, which is exactly the time that Dean left.” You took in what he said. “So, you’re saying that the day I remember, the day where I passed out in your arms, was eight hundred years ago?” 

He hesitated before nodding.

Your mouth now gaped. “I don’t know what to say. What does Earth look like now? What’s happened in the centuries I’ve been here?” Crowley grunted. “No. Hell-time is different. Every month on Earth is ten years down here. Eight hundred years is actually seven Earth years.” An unexpected sigh came from your mouth before you could stop it. “That’s right,” started Crowley, “You can go back to Earth and find Sam and Dean. They are definitely still alive, I can tell you that.” This revelation caused your face to brighten slightly, but harden just as quickly. “After I dismember you, I will _hunt_. _Him_. _Down_. He will not escape his deserved torture for as long as I live,” you growled, lip curling. He sighed, knowing what would come next. But instead of fulfilling your promise, when Crowley looked up, you had vanished.

~~~

You walked down the narrow street, your breath puffing out in little clouds. It was admittedly cold, yes, but you reveled in it. The blazes of hell had scorched you for eight hundred and forty years. There was no way in hell you were going to complain about a little chill. Cars sped up and down the road next to you, but you couldn’t be concerned about them. You had a mission, and you were determined to finish it. Dean Winchester would suffer and die by your hand, and there was no doubt about it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (FAVORITE FOR A PART 2)


	4. Merry Christmas Mom and Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam and dean arent really the focus of this one, it's more about how you came to be a hunter and angsty crap like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post this on christmas but that didn't really happen... whoops here ya go. some yuletide angst.

You hadn’t been here in such a long time. The memories of it had begun to fade, but as soon as you walked through the gates, everything came flooding back. They swung shut behind you with a metallic clang, and you nearly jumped at the sound. The eerie silence that followed wasn’t as scary as it was unsettling, and you were relieved when the birds began to chirp in the pine trees. Graves littered the ground, and some of them were almost piled up on top of each other, as you had entered into the old part of the cemetery. It would be a little while before you even neared the area where they were buried.

Needless to say, you weren’t surprised when no one else was in the old graveyard with you. It was, after all, very early on Christmas morning. Yes, you knew that you should be back at the bunker with the boys, but this was just something you had to do. And, true, they would miss you and probably be upset that you’d left on Christmas, but they’d have to get over it. As it happens, this Christmas was the 13th anniversary of your parents’ death. Your stereotypical hunter predicament had haunted you for every single one of those 13 years, and you hadn’t forgotten a single detail about their passing. Just like Sam and Dean, you were raised into the hunter life. To be honest, you hadn’t been as committed as your parents had wanted you to be. You were only a teenager, and you longed to be normal like the kids at school.

However, one night you were walking home from school, which was unusual. Your parents didn’t pick you up like they usually would have, and so you were forced to wait there, just in case they showed up late. But when 7:00 rolled around, you knew that they weren’t coming. It wasn’t like them, but perhaps it was a test. They were always doing things to hone your life skills.

You had looked up into the night sky, the stars twinkling brightly like nothing at all was wrong in the world. You knew better. Luckily, the place you and your parents were currently staying at was not far from the school. But the harsh breeze chilled you to the bone, and you had immediately wanted to be safe in your mother’s arms. When you reached the old shack of a house your were temporarily calling home, it was well lit, and for once seemed inviting after your trudge from school. You had checked your watch, the dimly glowing screen reading 8:30. Had it really taken you that long to get home?

You reached eagerly for the doorknob, but stopped abruptly when you realized the door was open. Your parents would never be this careless. The knife in your boot conveniently shifted around, and you grabbed it, preparing to fight off whatever was inside. Before you knew it, a tear slid down your cheek and onto your shirt. Unfortunately, the house was quiet. Too quiet. You knew from experience hunting with your parents that that usually meant the worst. You didn’t want to lose them, but they were strong fighters. Surely they would have hacked down whatever came through that door. You were mistaken.

The oaken door swung open easily, and you stepped inside. The entrance hallway of the house would have looked completely untouched, if it hadn’t been for the few drops of blood now soaking into the rug. Whimpering slightly, you walked slowly towards the living room. Each step you took seemed to echo in your brain. You dreaded what would meet you once you arrived there. The stupid hallway was long and stretched almost to the end of the house. From where you stood, in the doorway to the living space you could see a flickering light. Your combat boots made no sound against the hardwood floors, as you were sure not to alert anything that could end your life. That certainly wouldn’t help anyone. When you reached the doorway, you pressed yourself up against the wall, planning to jump out and ambush whatever was in there. Then, when you pounced, you nearly dropped to your knees in anguish.

The front of the couch faced you, as it always had. But, there your parents were, sitting up and attentive. To your horror, they weren’t alert because you had arrived, oh no. They were alert because of the gashes in their throats still dripping out their lifeblood. Their eyes were open wide, pupils still dilated from when they had been executed. Because that’s what this was, an execution. They had obviously been left for you as a message. You weren’t sure what is was yet, but you were sure that it would be revealed to you soon.

Reluctantly, you rose to your feet. You began towards them, and you found yourself wanting to throw up your uneaten lunch. Your legs failed you again, and your stomach heaved all around your gut. The sounds of dry heaving were the only thing you could hear, and your throat contracted and twisted again, provoking you to cough up water and other liquids. As far as you could tell, whatever had done this to your parents had fled the scene. But, you promised yourself and your parents that you would avenge their death, no matter the cost. And consequently, you had. You had tracked down the monster, having earlier learned that it was a vampire who drained people of their blood for later consumption. It had just been convenient for the vampire to have killed two hunters as well as grabbing a snack to-go. Two birds with one stone. The creature had backed up into the corner, turning out to be more of a coward than you had thought. He had barely fought back, and regretfully, it didn’t bring you much satisfaction when you had sliced his head clean off. You flew into a rage then, chopping up the corpse into unrecognizable pieces, scattering flesh and bodily fluids all over the room. Retreating to your motel room refuge, you couldn’t even find the strength to shower off. You had woken up the following morning still sticky with the vampire’s blood.

You had since found peace, taking up shelter with the Winchester brothers and assisting them in their efforts to make a difference in the world. So, here you were, shuffling softly through the rustling leaves that littered the cemetery path. In the distance, the giant headstone stood apart from the others. Normally, families wouldn’t be buried in this place, but the cemetery held special meaning to you and your parents. Oddly enough, they had met here, and this was the exact place your father had proposed to your mother when you were 1 year old. You smiled at the thought. You almost forgot about the daisies, and you didn’t even take notice of the fact that your sweaty, shaking hand was still gripping them tightly. Placing the yellow flowers before the headstone, you uttered a prayer to your mother and father, wherever they resided.

_“Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad.”_

 


	5. Gone In A Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't take your confession very well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a shortie, sorry

“I’m sorry Y/N, I just don’t feel that way about you.” You looked utterly defeated. Somehow, your face and demeanor was calm. “Oh,” you said, without emotion. Sam’s face showed pity, and you wanted to squish it back into his face so you couldn’t see it anymore. Everything felt numb, like life had no longer had purpose. It sounded cliche to you now, but it was a very real feeling. “Oh,” you repeated. Sam opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I’m sorry Sam. I’m sorry that I made such a miscalculation about you.” You paused, and his eyes pleaded for forgiveness for letting you down. You hated it. You were the one who confessed your love to him and he was the one wanting forgiveness for misleading you. My god you wanted the ground to open up and eat you alive. “I have to go,” you muttered, barely over a whisper. You grabbed your duffel that was lying nearby and started to shove stray clothes into it that had been strewn around the room. “Where are you going?” he asked. Hesitantly, you replied, “I have to go think. I will call you when I’ve got this out of my system.” He only nodded and looked at the door, as if you were already gone and he was already missing you. “Well,” he started. “Be back before sun-up. Dean wants to roll out a bit early.” You shook your head vigorously. “I won’t be back before sun-up. In fact, I probably won’t be back for a while.” Sam had confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean? When are you coming back?” Exasperated, you replied, “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe a couple months…” He looked shocked and his mouth gaped like some sort of fish. “A couple months! Well, shit Y/N I didn’t know this was such a big deal. I get that you liked me and all but the feeling is just not mutual. You’ll get over it.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Furiously, you corrected him, “No. No Sam Winchester don’t you do that to me. I just professed my  _ love _ for you, and you just blow it off like ‘I’ll get over it.”? I don’t think so. I’ve known you for what? Seven years? The first year after hunting with you guys I fell in love with you. That means 6 years I spent doting on you and holding my breath every time you got within spitting distance. That’s a big deal, Sam. I definitely need to go rethink my story at least just a little bit, don’t you think?” After your speech Sam was silent. Eerily silent. He just stared with those hazel eyes that you had loved.  _ Still _ loved. Snatching your now packed duffel from the table, you said farewell. “Goodbye Sam, I love you. Tell Dean and Cas that I love them too. I’ll call when I’m good and able.” With that, you swung the motel door open, and were gone in a second. 


	6. Nothing Will Ever Be The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> purgatory blues. the title really gives away a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one shot

Breathing fast. Running for your life. You looked over your shoulder and you couldn’t see him. Usually it would have given someone relief, to not see your pursuer, but it actually meant the predator was closing in on you. Your feet pounded on the hard ground, echoing your erratic heartbeat. You had long since lost your backpack, which had contained your weapons and everything you needed to survive in Purgatory. Now you were dead for sure. Suddenly, your foot caught on the winding root of a tree, sending you sprawling forward. Landing on your face, you groaned, trying desperately to get up and keep running. Before you could catch your bearings, you felt yourself being lifted into the air, as if your weight meant nothing. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping for a quick demise, and not the long, painful torture he was infamous for. You spun around in his grasp, now trying to free yourself. “It’s no use Y/N. I’ve got you now.” His chuckle rumbled in his throat, turning into a foreboding growl. His stare burned into yours, now that you had opened your eyes. The fear was obviously apparent on your face, because he laughed again, this time throwing his head back. Then, you heard a voice from across the clearing. “Put her down, Dean. She hasn’t done anything to you.” You were dropped almost immediately, now becoming aware of your broken arm as you crashed into the dirt. You cried out in agony, turning your face to see the monster you once called friend and the angel you once called brother locked in a fierce embrace. Cas had locked eyes with you through his hug with Dean, and while he was distracted you pulled yourself to your feet and hobbled away, clutching your arm, tears streaming down your face all the way. You knew nothing would ever be the same between you three again. Your family had come to a violent end.


	7. Jessie's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Bradbury fluff

You watched as Charlie stirred her hot chocolate with precision, her OCD probably kicking in to make it just right. She looked adorable with her furrowed eyebrows and squinty eyes. It made you chuckle out loud, which in turn made her look at you in confusion. “What’s so funny?” she asked innocently. “Oh nothing,” you replied with a glint in your eye that she seemed to notice. “Oh, Y/N just tell me,” she pleaded, a playful whine in her voice. “It’s just that you look really cute when you’re concentrating," you conceded bashfully, gesturing to the hot chocolate in her hand. She smiled sweetly and grabbed your hand with her free one, leading you over to the couch where your tea was sitting. Sitting down with her, you took a sip of it and grimaced. It had grown cold because you had been watching Charlie instead of drinking it. You set it down and searched for the remote, digging under the cushions and searching under the junk on the coffee table. You looked at Charlie helplessly to see her waving the ever elusive remote in you face. “What would I ever do without you Char?” you said lovingly. “Oh, I don’t know... crash and burn,” she kidded. You swung an arm around her shoulder while she clicked on the movie. “What are we watching this fine evening?”, you questioned in a British accent. “A myriad of Disney movies, milady,” answered Charlie, also with the same accent, but hers was better. Everything she did was better. 

After a Disney movie marathon, you began to nod off, your head drooping slightly, and then picking itself back up again. It was apparently pretty funny, because Charlie started laughing like a crazy person, snorting with that laugh you loved so much.  _ That  _ woke you up. Looking at her accusingly, she replied, “What? You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” she admitted innocently. You rolled your eyes and stood up, letting Charlie grab your hand once again, to lead you to the bedroom. She jumped in the bed and immediately yanked the covers over her body, making the blanket poof up like a mushroom cloud. You followed suit and she opened up the blanket to let you in. After a while of just cuddling, she whispered softly in your ear, “Sing to me.” You looked at her in surprise. She never asked you to sing anything. However, she knew that you loved to sing and were good at it, so you obliged and thought of a song. “Okay,” you started, “How about Jessie’s Girl?” Charlie’s face lit up with excitement and it made you giggle. “That’s my favorite song. How did you know?” “Because I know you, Charlie Bradbury,” you answered softly, kissing her on the nose. You took a deep breath and began to sing.

_ Jessie is a friend, _

_ Yeah I know he's been a good friend of mine _

_ But lately something's changed _

_ It ain't hard to define _

_ Jessie's got himself a girl _

_ And I want to make her mine _

_ And she's watching him with those eyes _

_ And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it! _

_ And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night _

 

_ You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl _

_ I wish that I had Jessie's girl _

_ Where can I find her, a woman like that? _

 

As you continued to sing, you noticed Charlie’s eyes begin to droop, and slowly she was lost to sleep. You kept singing to her, watching her stomach rise and fall, hearing the beat of her heart slow down. 

 

_ You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl _

_ I wish that I had Jessie's girl _

_ Where can I find her, a woman like that? _

 

_ Like Jessie's girl _

_ I wish that I had Jessie's girl _

_ I want, I want Jessie's girl _

 

Line by line, as the lullaby came to an end, you felt yourself drifting off, and you let sleep take you, knowing that the love of your life was safely nestled beside you. “I love you Charlie Bradbury,” you whispered. It might have been your drowsiness, but you thought you saw her smile slightly, right before your eyes closed.


	8. As Long As They're Laughing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you, the researcher, help the boys solve a case. fluff? implied angst. just overall mommy-ness from the reader

“Hello?” his voice crackled.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes on the other line. 

“Yeah, yeah what do you got?”

You nodded to no one in particular as you uselessly pointed to the page in the lore book you were studying. 

I’m 99.99% sure what you are looking at is a Machukuna.”

There was a pause until he spoke again.

“A whatwa-whatwa?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes as you began to explain. 

“A Machukuna. In the Incan cities people used to sacrifice themselves to it once a month to keep it from eating everybody. And, as is relevant, the sacrifices were 15 to 18 year old boys.”

You stopped to make sure he was following.

“Mhmm I hear you keep going.” 

Smiling to yourself with self-satisfaction, you obeyed. 

“Anyways, the boys would only cut off their faces, because that’s all that was needed to satisfy the monster. Anything else and the ritual was done wrong and their village would be consumed.” 

“Lovely. So what the hell happened to the rest of them? Their bodies I mean?”

Your tone grew slightly somber. 

“Well it says here that they usually flung themselves off the nearest cliff.”

“Right. Okay. So they killed themselves.”

“Yep.”

“Okay so that explains the fatal gunshot to the head on the first vic and the rope around the second vic’s neck.”

“Right on target.”

“Okay well we’ve got the lore, so how do we gank the SOB?”

Your grip adjusted on the phone as you passed it to the other ear, balancing it expertly between there and your shoulder.

“Well, that’s a bit more complicated.”

He groaned with anticipation, obviously anxious to get the vengeful monster off of his and Sammy’s trail. 

“Alright just give me a second to explain.”

“Okay but make it quick.”

You chuckled suddenly, “Hey, hey, hey, you can’t rush perfection, baby.”

His audible exasperation that followed was enough to tell you to get on with it.

“Alright so you will need a few things. I’m emailing Sam the list right now.”

“Oh Goddamn! There’s a list?!”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Yeah whatever. It’s fine.”

You knew this case had been hard on the brothers. They had been friends with both of the vics, leading them to realize the monster was attacking them personally. They were tired and sad, and you knew it. Dean’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Okay Sammy just let me know that he got it so while I’m here is there anything else we need to know?”

Thinking for a moment, you nodded to the air, often forgetting you were alone in the bunker.

“Yes. And you’re not gonna like it.”

“Okay just tell me quickly, like ripping off a band aid.”

“Yeah, one hell of a band aid.”

Chilly air flooded the room suddenly as if foreshadowing your next statement.

“This monster’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.” You paused. “And what he wants is you.”

“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t that be breaking the ritual?”

“Yes, but the lore says that the Machukuna needs to keep killing/sacrificing to keep his strength. It also says that once it has a victim in mind, there’s nothing stopping it unless it’s killed.”

Reassuring yourself you questioned, “And you will kill it, Dean? I just need ya’ll to be safe.”

The question and plea hung over the crackly phone line for a few seconds before he sighed and answered, “Yes, Y/N, we will kill it. And we’ll come home safe.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

A sigh of relief escaped your mouth and you smiled slightly into the phone.

“Okay. Take care of that monster. I love you guys. Be safe.”

A rumbling chuckle invaded your ear from the line. It was reassuring. You knew that as long as the boys were laughing, things would be okay.

“Bye Y/N.”

“Bye Dean.”

~ _ click _ ~


	9. Torture, My Love, Is Ecstacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short one shot. reader goes crayyy

“Please Y/N, you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Sam, his voice shaking in fear. Your eyes glinted in the harsh light, giving off an evil glow. “Oh, but Sammy, my love, I want to,” you retaliated, grinning like the Cheshire cat. The wounded Winchester reminded you of a quivering, newborn baby fawn or something, and you cackled at the thought of him being torn to shreds by your own two hands. His terror was apparent. He had never seen you like this before, and it terrified him to think about what you were going to do. “Y/N, what did I ever do to deserve this? Think about what you’re about to do. Please.” You faked a sad puppy dog face with a pouty lip, mocking him. “What did you ever do?” You repeated the question, nodding to yourself as you paced in front of him. Then you screamed, “WHAT DID YOU EVER DO?!” Sam shrank back in horror, which only made you more ecstatic. You skipped around the chair he was bound to, humming loudly. “You, Mr. Sammy Winchester, got me possessed by a freaking god.” You paused, smirking slightly. “Do you know what that does to a person, Sammy? A low rank, ass-kissing, good-for-nothing god?” You looked at Sam, as if asking for a response. You continued, roaring in his face, “IT LEAVES A HUGE. FUCKING. GASH. That is a wound that will never heal. It messes with your mind, lover boy.” Sam’s eyes widened in realization, and he tried to speak, but you interrupted before any sound left his mouth. “That’s right Moose. I’m insane. And I have one person to thank for it…” Pausing, you spun around and gestured to the empty room, “Drumroll please!” You brought down your fists onto the table repeatedly, summoning the sound of drums from the rickety iron. Twirling around to face Sam again, you saw that he had a single tear slowly running down his face. Whispering then, you growled, “You.” Sam’s eyes fell to the ground, and you picked up your first implement, starting the work that you intended to finish.


	10. The Hiding Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a playful game ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one shot

Your head poked around the corner of the wall and peered down the long hallway. You had to find a place to hide, and fast. In the distance you could hear the heavy plodding of Sam’s boots. You knew he was trying to hide too. Then the silence was interrupted by a familiar voice taunting you both. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” said Dean in a sing song voice. You sucked in a timid breath and slipped behind a curtain, just in time to feel Dean glide past you. “A-HA!” You heard him start pulling back all the curtains, exclaiming as if he had just won the lottery each time, expecting someone to be hiding back there. Soon, he would pull back the curtain you called your hiding place, and you would be discovered. Peering out from the folds of the curtain, you saw that Dean’s back was facing you, and you used the opportunity to lightly sprint into the other room.  _ Deep breaths. You don’t want him to hear you.  _ You creeped towards the kitchen on silent feet. You caught a glimpse of Sam striding across the hallway opposite of you, and you locked eyes for a millisecond before going opposite ways. There was no way that you were going to warn Sam about Dean. You wanted to win this game, and you were going to be cutthroat about it if you had to. Smiling to yourself, you spotted a crevice behind the dresser in the main room of the bunker. You crouched behind the piece of furniture and chuckled silently. You gasped loudly as the familiar face of your pursuer appeared in front of you. “Gotcha,” he said. Sam’s tall form was silhouetted on the wall, so you could tell he had already found his brother before you. “Well, you got me,” you admitted, grabbing Dean’s hand as he pulled you up. He scooped you into a big hug, and you giggled into his shoulder. He kissed your forehead and carried you to the main room, Sam following closely behind. Once you arrived, Dean turned slightly, with you still in his arms, and looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. “Hey man, you mind?” Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, but he held up his hands. “All yours.” You and Dean spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch whispering to each other into the wee hours of the morning.


	11. Blood and Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff with u and da bros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one shot

Dean heard a crash from the other room, met by a short bout of yelling, soon replaced by a heart wrenching sob. He burst through the door to find Sam with his hands on his hips and Y/N’s face in her hands. “Hey what’s going on in here?”, asked Dean loudly. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and looked at Sam, who in turn looked pitifully at you. A muffled cry came from Y/N and Dean sighed with contempt. “Seriously what the hell,” Dean questioned again. You finally looked up from your hands and the thing that came out of your mouth was a messy slur of words, “IwasmakingteaandSamscaredmeandIdroppeditandI’msorry, I’minalotofpainandIcan’tstopcryingandit’sreallyembarrassingI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”

Dean interrupted you gently, “Woah woah woah there, girl. You gotta slow down or you’ll hurt yourself.” He chuckled at the last bit and Sam shot him a bitchface. You began again, slower this time, forming real sentences. Your voice shuddered and cracked as you tried to calm yourself down. “I was making tea and Sam scared me,” you squeaked. “I dropped the mug and it shattered. I started yelling at Sam for no reason; he didn’t do anything wrong. Then I started crying.” You finished shakily and they still looked confused. “Wait, you said you were in a lot of pain? I don’t understand,” stated Dean. Your eyes shifted. There was no way to avoid the awkwardness, so you might as well tell them. “I’m...I’m having cramps. Really bad ones. Also I get emotional really easily.” You expected them to make fun of you and laugh, but they didn’t. Looking up from where your eyes had been glued to your socks, you saw that the boys’ faces were soft and forgiving. “You’re not going to make fun of me?” you trembled. It was Dean who spoke, “Of course we’re not going to make fun of you! I don’t have periods and I’m freaking glad. I have no clue what pain you are in, so there's no room for us to judge you. Besides, we care about you, so we want to make you feel better.” Dean finished with a smile. Suddenly you threw your arms outwards, symbolizing that you wanted him to come and hug you. His eyes held affection as he obliged, striding over to wrap you in a bear hug. You sunk your face into his shoulder breathing in his smell and drying your tears. He pulled you back so that he could look into your eyes. “What can I do to make you feel better?” You thought for a moment before your eyes lit up excitedly. 

“Chocolate!”


End file.
